


Part 5

by aloneandsleepless



Series: Flip Chronicles [5]
Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Racism, Slurs, flip doesn't say them don't worry, if you're sensitive to racist expressions please don't read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneandsleepless/pseuds/aloneandsleepless
Summary: **This is part 5 of the Flip Chronicles, a glimpse of a life with our beloved detective written in little blurbs**
Relationships: Flip Zimmerman x Black!Reader, Flip Zimmerman/Reader
Series: Flip Chronicles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156991
Kudos: 1





	Part 5

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was originally posted in Portuguese on November 28th, as a request from my dear friend @depositodamaria. I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Translating a fic is really tiresome. It takes a huge amount of my scarce free time. So I truly appreciate every comment, like and reblog. Thank you for taking your time to read it. And thank you all for your support. ❤️ 
> 
> “Hello! Here I am asking for Flip stuff again.
> 
> I would love to see you writing about our tough detective in a moment of vulnerability, like having a nightmare and waking up at night needing our love and support 🥺 after all, must be hard to face all those terrible situations and be under so much pressure all the time, maybe some cases get under his skin, as much as he doesn’t talk about them…whatever, I think he keeps a lot of stuff to himself and at some point it has to come out, and he is happy to have us by his side ❤️
> 
> ****If you're sensitive to racial slurs, please don't read****

A warm breeze goes through his body. He struggles to open his eyes, his head hurting terribly as he does so, trying to see something in the dark of night. Orange flashes of light take shape in front of him, mixed with what it looks like blurred white hoods.

Flip tries to move his body to get rid of the growing heat, but he realizes his feet are tied up by a rope around some object he isn’t quite sure what it is. His heart starts racing, his throat dries up and sweat drips down his face in a mix of anxiety and fear. He looks around, in an attempt to recognize the place, or some familiar face, but nothing seems to help. He tries to move his arms, but they are spread out to his sides and also tied up to a long piece of wood. And then, he knows.

A cross. Around him, the scene reveals itself. The orange flashes of the torches, being carried by hooded men in white robes, which have the coward intention of hiding their faces and revering old vile figures. Flip is a few palms above the ground, his feet positioned at the base of the cross, and the ropes around his arms are so tight that his wrists get wounded everytime he fights against them.

"This can’t be real, this can’t be happening”, he thinks, with teary eyes and a racing mind, trying to find a way out of this situation he finds himself in.

“You really thought you could mess with the organization, your stinking kike? ”, one of the hooded men shout towards him. The man comes closer to Flip, his red hateful eyes perfectly visible under the hood, reflecting the flames of the torch he has in his hand. “The supremacy of the Klan will not be threatened by a fucking Jew, nigger lover, acting like a cop. You are pathetic, Flip”, the faceless man insults, making sure to emphasize the officer’s real name.

“Let me out of here, you freaks!”, Flip screams, his body shaking with hatred, fighting against the ropes harshly. “I swear I’ll get each one of you, motherfuckers. You won’t get away with this,” he exclaims, with his teeth clenched and his face red with fury, staring at the man in front of him.

The man grins maliciously, “You see, that’s the thing, Flip. We already did”, he responds in a calm voice. “Aren’t you nigger friendly? So now you’re going to die just like one of them”, he says as he gets down and lights up the cross right under Flip’s feet. “God bless White America,” he exclaims, taking a few steps back, joining the rest of the group that was watching everything in amusement.

An intense heat rises through Flip’s body, causing him to feel an unbearable pain. Flip struggles against the damp wood, his wrists bleeding with each desperate movement he makes. Tears run down his face, while his throat hurts with every cry of pain and despair. He tilts his head up and begs for help, clinging to an empty hope while the flames get higher and higher.

Flip… Flip… He hears a sweet low voice, calling him amongst the chaos, like an angel in his rescue. He feels a hand touching his chest, a gentle but firm tap, calming his heart. Then he opens his eyes abruptly. Your face is the first thing he sees. The face of the angel that saved him.

“Flip, it’s okay, it was just a nightmare”, you tell him, while you caress his face and take some hair strands out of his sweaty face, in a loving and attentive gesture. “I’m here”.

Flip is still disoriented, breathing heavily, as he stares at you in wonder, and takes you in a tight hug. “I was there. The cross. The Klan. I was there. I was burning,” he babbles, in disconnected words. “It was me they were burning”. You hug him back, running your hands through his wide back, while your own eyes fill with tears when you notice how shaken he is.

“It was just a nightmare, love. It’s not real. You dismantled a Klan unit, you stopped a terrorist attack. What you did was extraordinary,” you comfort him, recalling the nights you were sleepless, knowing your husband was undercover at the organization’s meetings, getting involved in all sorts of terrible things in the name of a greater cause.

“One of them. It was only one of them. Who knows how many more are out there, spreading hatred and terror, hurting people just because they exist,” Flip laments, turning around to get his pack of cigarettes at the bedside table. With a long sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed, and lights one up. You lie there, noting his sweaty T-shirt and his restless legs shaking as he exhales the smoke through his mouth.

“I was weak and complicit. I could have done so much more. I could’ve stood up and faced these fuckers from the very beginning”, he ponders, “Even inside the Police Department”.

“You’ve done enough. I watched closely all your hard work and your efforts to learn every detail, following every step of the Klan. Ron’s crusade became your crusade as well”.

“I spent my whole life thinking I was just another white man, without any Jewish influence around me. I tolerated racist speeches, I never really stood up against abusive behavior and violence against black people or any minorities. It was only when I had a gun pointed at my face by one of those Klan freaks that I realized how much identity matters. My identity matters,” Flip concludes in a shaky voice, holding back a sob, while blowing the smoke through his nose with a deep sigh.

“You’re aware now, and that’s what matters. You’re aware of your own identity, aware of the suffering and struggle of the Black people. And you are trying to make a difference within the police department and outside of it. I admire you for that. As my mom used to say: acknowledge, refuse and change, always,” you whisper, as you wrap your arms around Flip’s neck, and give him a soft kiss, drying the tear that ran down his cheek.

“I don’t know what I would do without you. All the time I was with them, in that shitty place, it was your face I imagined”, Flip confesses, looking at you. “You were my strength”.

Your face lights up in a large smile, and you lean forward to kiss him once again, on the lips this time, conveying all your love and understanding in this rare moment of vulnerability of your tough detective.

“Thanks for staying, even when everything was bad,” Flip says, roaming his eyes through your face, as if he were recording every bit of it inside his mind.

“Do you know how hard it is to find a tall, handsome man who looks good in plaid flannel shirts?”, you tease him, trying to light up the mood in this turbulent night. “Now come back to bed and warm me up because I’m cold”.

“Yes, ma'am,” Flip laughs as he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray and lies beside you, wrapping his arms around you. Slowly he begins to relax, but the nightmare remains vivid in his mind, like a sad reminder of what’s still out there and must be fought for a lifetime.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr!  
> @aloneandsleepless or @justflipz


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